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I found this Brownie Girl Scout Beanie at an estate sale. I was a Brownie, and my daughter was a Brownie, and we both just could not get excited about being Brownies. Maybe it was the hat, described as “a six section beanie with loop at top.” The Girl Scouts website states that it is made of “rayon/wool felt,” immediately followed by the statement that it is made of “100% polyester felt.” So confusing, but really, it doesn’t matter — it could be made of cashmere and it would still look goofy. The little dancing figure on it always looked vaguely satanic to me:

Current beanies have blue figures, which look less sinister:

My kids attended a middle school that was housed in a Greek Orthodox Church. One day when I was picking up my son, a Brownie scout walked by. My son pointed to her and said, “Look, she has a baklava on her head!” He had recently been to a bar mitzvah, and meant to say she had a yarmulke on her head, but given that we were in front of the Greek church, confusing a Greek pastry with a Jewish skullcap was understandable and smirk-worthy.

Inspired by the Brownie beanie and Greek middle school memories, I made a Greek salad. I believe purists would argue that a real Greek salad does not have lettuce, but I am neither Greek nor a purist, and I kinda like it with lettuce. Some people like to add anchovies, but as I’ve mentioned before, we think they look like eyebrows and don’t add them to anything. But really, it’s all about the dressing. I’ve included photos for two different ways to prepare it, as a tossed salad and as a composed salad. As with any vegetable salad, you can adjust the ingredients and amounts to suit your tastes.

Place all dressing ingredients in a jar, and shake vigorously to combine. Place in refrigerator for at least 1 hour before using.

Place all salad ingredients except feta cheese in a large bowl and toss to combine. (Note: All salad ingredient measurements are approximate -- vary amounts as desired.) Pour dressing in desired amount over salad and toss to combine. Sprinkle with feta cheese and serve. (This salad is especially nice served on chilled plates.)

3.4.3177

It’s all about the dressing

Just lettuce eat our Greek salad

Prepare it as a composed salad, but only if you like the sound of oohs and ahs

It was made by Fitz & Floyd in MCMLXXVII (too lazy to figure it out myself, I discovered an online site — of course — that will convert Roman numerals to Arabic numerals, which said it’s 1977):

This little guy looks like my dogs feel on the 4th of July when the fireworks start:

How are you celebrating the 4th of July? Food, fun, family, fireworks — the 4 best f-words around, right? I saw lots of patriotic efforts around town, big and small. There were small little flags tucked into gardens:

And big flags waving proudly in yards:

What did one flag say to the other? Nothing, it just waved.

Trees were lit up in red, white, and blue at this downtown office building:

And the big red cock at BRC Restaurant (I know, I hate the name too), was painted with stars and stripes.

I found a few new treats for this patriotic holiday, including red, white, and blue Rice Krispies (I’d love to show you the Rice Krispie Treats I made with them, but they disappeared too quickly, so you’ll have to use your imagination. Like Spongebob):

Trader Joe’s had this White House cookie kit (maybe for the next presidential election — not feeling it for this one):

And these Shooting Stars Cookies, which are made with pop rocks, and according to the Trader Joe’s staff, are quite a party all by themselves:

Walmart had bouquets of red, white, and blue flowers (dog not included):

I wouldn’t normally buy dyed flowers, but they looked kinda desperate to go home with someone — anyone — so I broke down and bought a bunch. Not only were these dyed, but they were sprayed with glitter, as well. Shaking my head.

Inspired by the cannon vase and thoughts of Independence Day, I’m sharing a recipe for Southern Potluck Baked Beans, adapted from the Pioneer Woman’s recipe for Quick Southern-Style Baked Beans, and a great side dish for your 4th of July barbecue. I think every Southern cook has some version of this in her repertoire, or at least in her Junior League cookbooks. There was a time when I might have scoffed at the idea of making baked beans by starting with cans of baked beans — seems kind of redundant. But the amped-up flavor from the additional ingredients and thick texture that comes from baking for two hours make these a special side dish to bring to any potluck, especially one where grilling is involved.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Cook bacon in a large nonstick skillet over medium high heat until bacon is partially cooked and has rendered some of the fat. Remove bacon to paper-towel lined plate, and reserve 1 tablespoon of drippings. Place beans in a large bowl. Add barbecue sauce, brown sugar, vinegar, dry mustard, and 1 tablespoon bacon drippings, and mix until thoroughly combined. Transfer beans to a 9 x 13 baking dish. Arrange bacon over top. Bake until sauce is thick and syrupy, approximately 2 hours. Remove from oven and allow to stand approximately 15 minutes before serving.

Frilly azaleas are in full bloom (on the heels of the redbuds, lorapetalum, and Japanese magnolias). It’s almost as if the city were spray painted with big splotches of pink, purple, and white:

Those are what I call azaleas!

These huge azaleas tend to be found on older homes. Landscapers today tend to favor Encore azaleas, which grow in tidier formations not much more than about 16 inches tall, and promise to bloom year round. (The “bloom year round” thing, unfortunately, is kind of a joke. They manage to choke out a few blossoms in the warmer weather, but they are decidedly not spectacular.)

Encore azaleas

I came across a tree that was filled with birds that I didn’t instantly recognize. There must have been 30 of them, flitting about, eating the berries on the tree. I sat and watched them for a while, completely mesmerized. I later learned that they were Cedar Waxwings.

Cedar Waxwings

The farmers market was packed this weekend, with people coming from all over to enjoy the great weather. I came home with some beautiful produce, including tender broccoli side shoots (we love these):

Green onions in bud (I think these look like baby leeks, but am always told they are green onions):

Most of the produce came from Atkinson Farms, one of my favorite vendors. As I completed my purchase and started to walk away, I noticed something on a back table, a sort of Land of Misfit Vegetables. Beep, beep, beep — I backed up to get a better look. Wait. Was that . . . . Could it be . . . ? Cardoons?

Mr. Atkinson confirmed that they were, in fact, cardoons. Up until then, I had only read about cardoons, and at this point, my nose was probably twitching with excitement. I asked him what do you do with them, and he answered with the same answer I get whenever I ask him about any vegetable he sells — “eat them.” I told him I figured that out, and he kind of smiled and very patiently explained to me how to prepare them. Turns out, they are a bit of work, which is why, he said, people don’t like to buy them. Silly people. He handed me a bunch, told me they were on him, and to let him know what I thought of them. Oh, Joy is my new middle name!

Cardoons, like artichokes, are thistle-like members of the sunflower family. Mr. Atkinson was right, they are a bit of work. You first have to strip the leaves, which are bitter, and trim the outside layer, which is stringy. I’m not sure how to describe the inside of the stalk — it looks like a series of tubes. As the stalks mature, they become hollow and more stringy.

Next, the prepared cardoons need to be simmered in salted water for about 30 minutes until they’re tender. Then they’re ready to be used in any number of ways — sliced and added to pasta, breaded and fried, gratineed, etc.

I topped my cardoons with a mixture of 1/2 cup Italian seasoned breadcrumbs and 1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese, then dotted it with about a tablespoon of butter and baked at 350 degrees for about 20 minutes, until the topping was browned.

Looking at cardoons, you might expect them to taste like celery. You would be wrong, and really, why would you want to go to all that trouble for something that tastes like celery, when you could just eat celery? You may have heard that they taste like artichokes. More accurately, they taste EXACTLY like artichoke hearts. And for that, the hassle is worth it.

Like this:

You were going to do it, weren’t you? You were going to let me be the only blogger that didn’t post a recipe for pickled something or other. Nice. Just for that, no twine around the jar for you. And no stripey straws either.

Living in Houston, the only thing I’m growing this time of year is dried herbs. So unlike those of you who have so many cucumbers, zucchini, and tomatoes overflowing from your garden that you don’t know what to do with them, I have to buy mine. And when I see fat little Kirby cucumbers at the farmers market, I am compelled to pickle. Did you know (or care) that “Kirby cucumber” is a generic term used to describe small (6-7 inches) cucumbers? Once upon a time, however, there was such a thing as actual Kirby cucumbers, which were varieties developed by Norval E. Kirby in the 1920s. Kirby cucumbers are unwaxed to prevent interference with pickling. They tend to be crisper and have fewer seeds than other cucumbers, which also makes them good for pickling.

This recipe for Bread and Butter Pickles was passed on to me by my Dad, who said it came from the New York Times a few decades ago. It’s easy to make, and the pickles are especially good on sandwiches.

Place cucumbers and onion in a large bowl and toss with salt. Add enough water to cover, and soak for 30 minutes. Drain, but do not rinse. Pack cucumbers and onions into a quart jar.

Place sugar, vinegar, 3 tablespoons water, mustard seed, celery seed, and turmeric in a small saucepan over high heat, and heat until boiling. Carefully pour over cucumbers. Set jar aside to cool, then refrigerate.

Like this:

I found this 1940s produce crate label for Dominator Tomatoes, used by the T.O. Tomasello Company of Watsonville, California, on ebay. It features a U.S. fighter plane. I got it along with several other labels featuring airplanes, thinking it would be cute to frame them for my then-young son’s airplane-themed room.

I never did get around to framing those labels. Never finished collecting all of the state quarters with him either, but somehow we’ve managed to carry on.

This time of year, tomatoes do indeed dominate. The tomato season in Houston is short, and the tomatoes are not pretty, but they taste great. These heirloom tomatoes from the farmers market a few weeks ago were wonderful with sliced red onions and kirby cucumbers, drizzled with a little olive oil and red wine vinegar.

Although the Houston tomato season is pretty much over, we’re enjoying vine-ripened tomatoes from other parts of the U.S. My research indicates that Florida is the largest producer of fresh market tomatoes, whereas California produces almost all of the tomatoes processed in the U.S. The USDA says that we eat between 22-24 pounds of tomatoes per person annually, with more than half of those tomatoes used in ketchup and tomato sauce. And according to one survey, 93% of U.S. gardening households grow tomatoes.

The scientific name for tomatoes is lycopersicum (technically, either lycopersicon lycopersicum or solanum lycopersicum, depending on who you think is correct — oh, the controversies that arise in the plant-naming world!), which means “wolf peach,” and has its origins in German werewolf myths. According to legend, the nightshade plant (tomatoes are in the nightshade family) was used in potions by witches and sorcerers to change themselves into werewolves. When the similar, but larger tomato arrived in Europe, it was called “wolf peach.”

Tomatoes are believed to have originated in the Andes. The word tomato comes from the Aztec “xitomate,” which means “plump thing with a navel.” So the next time your loved one refers to you as a hot tomato, don’t be so flattered.

Botanically speaking, a tomato is a fruit. For culinary purposes, which, let’s face it, are far more important than botanical purposes, a tomato is considered a vegetable. As I told my son, when he was studying for his theology final and trying to explain the difference between knowledge and wisdom:

Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit;

Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad

Well, they may not be great in fruit salad, but tomatoes — especially ripe summer tomatoes — are wonderful in vegetable salads. Inspired by the Dominator tomato crate label, this recipe for Pomodoro Basilico Salad makes great use of the season’s fresh tomatoes, and really allows the tomato to be the star of this salad. For the very best results, use a good quality olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Place tomatoes, olives, basil, and onion in a medium bowl. In a small bowl, whisk together oil and vinegars, and pour over tomato mixture. Stir gently to combine. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Just before serving, sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.

Ever since I attended the Herb Symposium last month, I’ve been on the lookout for herbs to add to my collection. The other day I found this Mexican Oregano, with its pretty orchid-colored blossoms:

I’ve always had a pot of oregano among my herbs, but it was either Greek or Mediterranean. This was the first time I had seen, or at least noticed, Mexican oregano. Unlike the grayish-green rounded leaves of the other varieties, this one had bright green, pointed leaves:

I can’t wait to use it in a recipe, and those flowers are going to make a pretty garnish.

Oregano is used frequently in Mexican recipes, and one that we really love is Ninfa’s Carrot Relish. These pickled carrots were always on the table at Ninfa’s, along with the restaurant’s legendary red and green salsas. The recipe appeared in the Houston Chronicle years ago, and I’ve made it many times since. One time, my Dad threw some leftover cauliflower into the warm brine, and it was so good, that he declared, “I don’t know why you would ever make it any other way.” Gotta agree with you, Dad — it is even better with the cauliflower!

Place water, oil, and vinegar in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil over medium high heat. Add chiles, reduce heat, and simmer for 5 minutes. Add oregano, cumin, pepper, salt, and sugar and simmer 5 minutes longer. Add carrots, onion, cauliflower, and jalapenos, and simmer approximately 10 minutes, or until carrots have reached desired consistency (they should be relatively firm). Transfer to jar, allow to cool, then refrigerate.

I found this Japanese bronze bonsai planter on ebay. It has a crisp pattern and interesting animal handles:

It is signed, although I have no idea by whom.

Bonsai is defined as “a tree or shrub that has been dwarfed, as by pruning the roots and pinching, and is grown in a pot or other container and trained to produce a desired shape or effect.” Or, as defined on Urban Dictionary: “A small shrub that resembles a tree. So small yet so full of treeness.”

I’ve never grown a bonsai in my bonsai planter, because I don’t have enough light for one in my house, but every winter I use it to force narcissus, also known as paperwhites. First I fill the planter with gravel (which I purchase at the pet store in the fish tank aisle):

Then I nestle 8 bulbs on top of the gravel. I add water to just below the surface of the gravel:

Within a few days, roots appear on the bulbs:

And leaves shoot up:

About a week later, buds start to appear:

And a few days later I am treated to fragrant, delicate white flowers:

I look forward to forcing the bulbs every year, and wonder what else I could force using my bonsai planter. Maybe I could use it to force my kids to do the laundry.

One thing I don’t have to force my kids to do is eat Spinach with Sesame Soy Dressing. We first tried something similar to this on our one and only trip to Disneyworld. We went during the week between Christmas and New Year’s, or as Disney calls it, “the most magical time of the year (“magical” being a euphemism for expensive or crowded, or maybe both). I DO NOT recommend going to Disneyworld at that time of year. The Magic Kingdom was so crowded that they closed the gates periodically throughout the day. It was a challenge just to find a place to eat. (Take my advice and DO NOT eat at the Tomorrowland Noodle House.) One day at Epcot we did not manage to sit down for breakfast until 3 p.m., and my caffeine headache was so bad that all I wanted to do was bang my head against a wall. In desperation, we wound up having dinner at Todd English’s Blue Zoo, in the Swan and Dolphin Hotel. It is off the beaten path, took about 30 minutes to shuttle there from our hotel, and was so great that we ate there twice. A tasty little mound of sesame spinach accompanied some of the entrees, which the kids quickly scarfed down.

Inspired by the bonsai planter, I finally got around to trying this recipe for Spinach with Sesame Soy Dressing. The recipe from which this is adapted was originally published in Gourmet magazine in 1963, but was republished in 2006. According to my family, it has definitely withstood the test of time.

Rinse spinach and drain lightly. With water still clinging to leaves, cook in 2 batches in a large pot over moderately high heat, covered, turning occasionally with tongs, until wilted and bright green, 2 to 3 minutes per batch. Transfer cooked spinach to a colander, then rinse under cold water until cool and drain well. Squeeze small handfuls of spinach to remove as much moisture as possible, then in 2 batches wrap spinach in several layers of paper towels and squeeze to remove more moisture. Coarsely chop spinach. Divide spinach among 4 small custard cups or timbales.